A Dim Light in the Darkness
by Umbrella-ella
Summary: Small insights into the lives of multiple pairings and characters. Written for various competitions and challenges. I. JamesPetunia, II. RonHermione, III. ErnieLavender, IV. SeamusCedric, V. BillRemus, VI. DudleyPansy, VII. MinervaKingsley, VIII. Harry&Petunia (Family)
1. JamesPetunia: In the Eye of the Beholder

_A/N: For the HPFC Valentine Drabble Collection Competition. Pairing: James/Petunia. Prompt: pearls._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, I'm just playing in Jo's sandbox._

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Lily brings him home the summer of her sixth year, and when Petunia Evans sets eyes on James Potter, she forgets that she hated her sister, that she hated everything to do with magic. His shaggy hair sweeps the tops of his dark eyebrows, and his hazel eyes peer out from behind thin black frames, and she thinks that he's not bad looking.

He looks at her like just maybe she's beautiful. She doesn't believe it, doesn't really know how to. He's not _normal, _after all_._

She's plain, with her long neck and blonde curls, but even with every doubt lodged permanently in her mind, every time his eyes meet hers she feels wonderful, like she could stand on top of the world and soar. He finds excuses to spend time alone with her, snatched moments here and there, when Lily is away, and he even kisses her one or forty times.

The last time she sees him, she's got her own place, and he presses a string of pearls into her palm in the cramped hallway between the bathroom and the kitchen of the small flat, and he kisses her with a fervor that leaves her head buzzing and her heart pounding.

The next time she hears his name, it's muffled between Lily's sobs, her eyes red-rimmed with grief, and Petunia feels her heart break in two. _Raid. Death Eaters. Surprise attack. Dead._

Her lips tremble and she clutches at her neck, her fingers clasping around the string of pearls and she feels as if the world has swallowed her whole.

It hurts to breathe after that, like she's betraying him.

James Potter, the boy who died. The boy with the hazel eyes and the crooked smile who made her feel beautiful and loved and perfect. For a little while, at least.

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_A/N: I kind of love this pairing, so it's my honor to contribute to this corner of the fandom. Leave a review, please!_


	2. RonHermione: Stop Pretending

_A/N: Written for the If You Dare Challenge, Prompt: #135. Resentment and the 24 Hour Pairing Challenge (Ron/Hermione)._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, clearly. _

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She meets him outside; it's cold, even in the middle of May and she shudders against the breeze that sweeps through the hills surrounding them. It's peaceful here, and quiet. Ron is quiet too, but hardly peaceful— his face is shadowed, and even in the dim light that emanates from the Burrow, she can see that his shoulders are rigid.

She doesn't speak, just slips her hand in his, and she feels his fingers curl around hers as if it were second nature. After a moment, she tucks into him— she feels safe here, the steady beat of his heart thrumming beneath his sweater.

"Are you alright? You were quiet tonight," It's a stupid question, but it's all she can say; something has to fill the silence that presses in around them— it reminds her too much of the winter spent in the Forest of Dean; quiet, eerie, and discomfiting.

"Yeah, M'great." His words are hollow, and it sounds muffled, as though he can't quite bring himself to speak them— he's lying.

"No, you aren't." She clutches his hand tighter in hers and pulls him to the nearby stump. They sit together, close, his knee pressing into her thigh. Ron tugs his hand away, rubbing his face vigorously.

"I— I couldn't… save him, Hermione." His hands open and close, clenching helplessly. His knuckles are white and the freckles on his hands stand out in the cool light of the moon.

"Ron—" Hermione protests, her hand resting on his arm, his muscles taut with anguish, his face tortured. "It's not your—"

"Don't, Hermione!" Ron yells, his voice breaking in the cool summer air as he launches himself away from her, turning his back to her. She can see his shoulders shuddering as he speaks, his voice measured. "Don't say it's not my fault! Percy, he shouldn't have been there!" He spins on his heel, and Hermione pulls back slightly, shocked by the anger and ferocity she sees in his eyes. "I should have— I should have saved him."

Hermione wishes she could take away his pain- she'd do anything. She reaches out for him, but he is consumed with anger, with his own guilt— it hurts her. He drops to the ground, defeated, a puff of breath escapes him, and Hermione curls around him, her chin resting on his shoulder, her arms holding him tightly. "There was nothing you could've done, Ron."

Ron picks at his worn trainers, the sole coming apart from the fabric. "You don't understand, Hermione, of course you don't." At this, Hermione joins him on the cool grass, looking up at the inky sky.

"It's just… I see my mum, everyday, and she looks so— hurt, like she's trying so hard to keep it together, and she can't quite— And I can't help but think that it should've been me, Hermione."

Hermione slams her eyes shut at that, blotting out the inky sky and the light and Ronald, wishing that she could take away his pain. "Ron," she pleads, "No, I shouldn't have been you. No one deserved to die."

Ron sighs.

"But it should've; what have I got? Bill's got his family, his career, Charlie's always been gifted with Dragons, Percy's always been smart, and Fred and George— they were always the funny ones— what am I? Nothing. I'm a sidekick, Hermione, that's it, _so why shouldn't it have been me_?" Hermione's eyes sting with tears as Ron tucked his hands into his pockets.

"You— you can't mean that, Ronald." Hermione's chest pangs at his suggestion.

"No, Hermione, I do— I mean it. I couldn't save you, not at Malfoy Manor, when that _bitch _tortured you, I couldn't save Remus, Tonks, Fred… None of them, I couldn't help them. Couldn't save them," he murmurs.

"No, you couldn't have, but that doesn't mean—"

"Yes, it does!" Ron stands, pacing frantically, his voice rising in the still night air. "It is _my fault_. Do you know what it's like, to wake up in the morning with a hole in your family, to watch everyone around you fall apart? It's not fun, Hermione. I should've just— I should've been better, been more. I'm not a hero, I'm not brave, so you _can all just stop pretending._"

Hermione fights her impulse to gather him into her arms, instead clutching her cardigan closer to her, warding off the chill of the cool night air.

"But you are, Ron, you are so incredibly brave," Hermione speaks, her voice trembling, "You saved us, Harry and I both, so many times. The troll in our first year, saving Ginny in the Chamber, the Department of Mysteries, the Forest. All of those times. Anyone else would have run a mile— but you, you stayed. You fought for us, for the good. You saved us all, you remembered about the Basilisk— you did that, Ron, you are a hero."

Ron snorts, lifting his face to the sky, and then Hermione sees the young boy he had once been, the innocence that brightened his face once had all but gone, the brutality of war and all he had seen having wiped it all away. His face is tired, drawn, and the bags under his eyes speak of the nightmares that plague him nightly. Hermione beckons him towards her, and he slumps to the ground, huffing lightly as he dropped his head to her shoulder.

"M'sorry, 'Mione. I'm just so tired… So tired of watching my family fall apart."

Hermione presses a light kiss to Ron's red hair and cradles him closer.

"Then rest. Don't try so hard. Let me pick up the pieces."

His hand finds Hermione's in the dark, and for the first time since the end of the Battle, Ronald Weasley breaks. His cries are sharp and anguished, his pain echoing through the small yard as he finally mourns for all he has lost.

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_A/N: I'm not so sure about how this turned out, but here it is. Leave a review?_


	3. ErnieLavender: Eyes Closed

_A/N: Written for the Star Challenge: Alpha Centauri and the 335 Pairing Bonanza (Lavender Brown/Ernie MacMillan)_

_Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter. _

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He finds her in the Great Hall, or what's left of it, anyways, and she is gray and pale and it scares him. His hands are trembling and he feels his heart swoop down to his stomach.

Her face is smeared with blood and he thinks he might be sick. This was Lavender; what wrong had she ever done? Quiet murmurs of victory pass between the living, tired and shaken and skin stained with dirt, but the dead make no noise. But Lavender is so very alive, and Ernie thanks Merlin for the small blessing of her shallow breaths, coming in short, shuddering gasps, the single sign of life bringing him to his knees. Professor McGonagall is kneeling over her, muttering counter-spells and whispering words of encouragement to the young woman who lies so very still on the stone floor.

Ernie reaches for her and her fingers are limp and cold between the warmth of his, and he prays to whoever is listening that she will just _wake up. _Because when she opens her eyes, everything will be okay, right?

But when he opens his eyes to look at her, her eyes are still closed. And so he waits, her hand firmly held in his.

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_A/N: Reviews are food for the author's soul, yes?_


	4. SeamusCedric: Tragedies of War

_A/N: Written for the Star Challenge: Cappella and the 335 Pairing Bonanza (Cedric Diggory/Seamus Finnigan)._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter._

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He didn't know when it started— maybe it was after they had shared a few jokes, maybe it was after the older boy had helped him with his Astronomy homework. They never really spoke, just carried on with their comfortable silences and worked in tandem with ease— it worked best that way. Seamus would give anything to have that back, to have the slight smiles, the scratch of quills— he _needed _it.

But he couldn't _have _it, not anymore, not when Cedric's body was being lowered into the ground, not when his face was pale and contorted, not when Cedric was _gone. _His stomach twisted into knots as the service wizard spoke, and a buzzing filled his ears. _Gone, dead, _nothing else he could do.

Seamus couldn't bring him back, couldn't see that gorgeous boy light up with laughter— but something was coming, and Seamus would be there to fight it, no matter what, for the dead boy with the beautiful smile.

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_A/N: This was an odd pairing, but I hope it turned out alright. So, go ahead and review, ja?_


	5. BillRemus: Scars, Tea, and Understanding

_A/N: I have never written slash, save for CedricSeamus, and as such, this was quite the challenge. Bill/Remus for Decisions, Decisions, using the prompts tempting, "Do you mean it?", and whispers._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter._

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He can hear them, the whispers, and he hates them.

The scars are always there, and he is always anxious. He feels trapped here, with Fleur constantly asking him how he is, how he feels, and the stares and the looks of pity and he feels like he can't quite breathe for all of it. He spends his days looking in the mirror. He'd never been vain, no, not vain, but these scars, these are a reminder of a war he never wanted to fight, a war no one had. They try to understand, everyone, and it's too much, because they can't understand and no, he is not alright and he feels like shit, but he can never tell them that, because he can never tell them what it felt like to feel the hot breath of Greyback on his neck as he lay immobile on the ground, paralyzed with fear. _Coward, broken, half-breed. _Eventually, Fleur leaves, and Bill tells himself that she could never have understood, and that it was best.

No, none of them will ever understand, so he goes to someone who can.

At first, as he hears the echo of his knock in the dim hallway, he thinks that maybe this is a ridiculous idea, but before he can run away, before he can escape, the door swings open.

"Bill." With one word, Bill feels the tension seep from his body, and he instantly relaxes. Remus looks tired and drawn, but nevertheless, Bill thinks his visit is welcome, judging from the slight smile that spreads across the older man's face. Bill moves past Remus, who points him to the sitting room before disappearing for a moment. Bill sinks into the comfortable armchair next to the empty bookshelf and surveys his surroundings. The flat is small but comfortable, the warmth of Remus' personality flooding the room and Bill cracks a smile at the fact that the bookshelf is organized alphabetically. A sharp whistle cuts through the air, and Bill can hear the bubble of boiling water. A moment later, Remus appears, a smile crinkling the corners of his host's eyes, and hands him a steaming mug of Earl Grey.

It takes several moments of silence and three gulps of piping hot tea to muster the courage to speak.

"Do they change you? The scars?"

Remus lifts his eyes from the mug he holds, regarding Bill carefully, and Bill stares back, noticing the flecks of hazel in Remus' brown eyes.

Remus sweeps a strand of grey hair behind his ear, and Bill wonders absentmindedly what his grey-brown hair would feel like between his fingers. The thought is gone in a flash when Remus responds, his voice quiet and contemplative- careful and measured.

"I think… that they only change you if you let them." A reassuring smile breaks the tense atmosphere and Bill feels childish as he asks, "Do you mean it?"

"I do. I can hardly remember a time when I wasn't… affected, but you can. Hold on to that, Bill, hold on to that, and you can do anything."

Remus abandons his tea in favor of settling a reassuring hand on Bill's, and Bill feels a spark of warmth run through him and suddenly the older man's thin lips are so very, very tempting. Fleur, his mum, nothing matters but Remus. His heart thunders in his chest and his eyes flicker up to the older man's.

"It will be okay, you'll see. One day, none of that will matter— you'll be married, have a family, and the past will stay in the past."

Bill wonders if it's fair to keep the truth a secret, but as he watches Remus' smile, he knows it's not.

"I won't though. Fleur is leaving, she's going back to France. I loved her, but— It wasn't right. She didn't understand."

As silence permeates the air, Bill is glad that he has found someone that can understand. The tea is lukewarm when he drinks it, but in the warmth of the company and the books and the understanding, it hardly matters.

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_A/N: This is far from my best, but it's what I could come up with, and I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Leave a review!_


	6. DudleyPansy: Interruptions

_A/N: Leave it to Cheeky's competitions to get me hooked on odd pairings. Pairing: DudleyPansy, prompt: busy_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter._

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He sees her in a coffee shop and he can tell she doesn't belong there. Her face is small and her dark hair frames her strong jaw just _so. _He is busing the table next to her; he can see that she is busy reading intently, her brow furrowed in concentration, and he stuffs his hands in his apron before he catches her attention, standing in front of her.

"Looks interestin', what you're reading." He gestures to the book dumbly— _you can do better than that, Dursley._

She looks up, her face pinched into a grimace. She was busy and now he's interrupted her and he's sure he looks like a fool.

"Not very, no. History was never my subject."

"Oh? What part? I've always loved history, really, too bad I was rubbish at school."

The dark haired girl cracks a smile and that, and Dudley feels his heart speed up and he can't help but feel like he's won some sort of victory— he gets the feeling that maybe she doesn't smile much.

She clears her throat and composes herself. "It's nothing you'd understand. Aren't you supposed to be working or something?" She sniffs dismissively and Dudley can tell she usually gets what she wants. But he can't help himself. He drops into the chair at her table and the shock reads clearly on her face.

"It's just, that book— it looks like one my cousin used to bring home. 'Course, Dad would never let him have 'em, but I snuck a look once in a while."

The girl is clearly intrigued now. "Your cousin was magical?"

"Yeah, dunno where he is. Sometimes he writes mum and me, but they're short letters."

Her interest peaked, the girl leans forward, the freckles on her face illuminated by the neon sign that flickers in the window— her lips curl into a small grin and Dudley's hands grow sweaty.

"What's his name? Maybe I knew him."

"Harry Potter— guess he's a big-shot now."

She is shocked, he can see it in her grey eyes, and he briefly wonders if she was a friend of Harry's. Probably not. Harry never had many friends.

"Oh. Yes, he is." She grows stiff, and he can tell that she is ready to bolt. He gets up, watching her gather her things and stuff them into her rucksack, but he can't let her leave, not yet.

She flicks a strand of hair back before it has the chance to fall to her cheek and stands, grabbing the cup of steaming whatever-it-is before offering him a small smile that barely reaches her eyes.

"Excuse me."

Dudley was never brave before, but he is now.

"Wait! Whatever he did, I'm not him."

She stops, turning around to face him.

"I know… He saved us all, you know." She smiles again and this time, her face lights up. "You know, I like it here." And with that, the mystery girl is gone and Dudley is in love.

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_A/N: Leave a review, yeah?_


	7. KingsleyMinerva: Firewhiskey

_A/N: For Cheeky's Valentine Drabble Collection Competition. KingsleyMinerva, prompt: exhaustion. _

_Disclaimer: I wish I owned Harry Potter, but alas, it's a pipe dream._

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"You look exhausted, Minerva," Kingsley spoke, his deep voice filling the empty room. She was thankful for the quiet— just the memory of all of the arguing was enough to make her head pound.

Minerva started, before relaxing. Of course it would be him. It usually was.

"Can you tell? I didn't even hear you come in." She shuffled a few maps around and waved her wand, tidying up the mess of papers left strewn about the dining table and watched as they slipped into the waiting file folder. Kingsley shifted forward into the dim light of the chandelier, revealing his purpose. In his hands were two cups, balanced precariously on saucers.

Setting them down with a dull thump, Kingsley joined Minerva in her cleaning duties, handing her blueprints of some Ministry branches in France— if they could infiltrate the French Ministry, then perhaps they could rally for support in the war. That was the plan anyways.

Casting a tight smile to Kingsley, Minerva dropped into the seat across from him, lifting the cup to her lips. A cough sputtered from her lips, her eyes widening in surprise— she stared at an amused Kingsley.

"Firewhiskey. You looked like you needed it."

Swallowing the last of the burn, she laughed gently, "I guess I did, didn't I? We all do." Minerva watched Kingsley's smile fall, and suddenly she was sorry she'd said anything.

"The war makes us tired, Minerva— it should. But it can't last forever. He can't run forever." Kingsley's hand covered hers, and she was comforted by his warm fingers over hers. The sting of the firewhiskey sliding down her throat was bitter and hot, but she found she didn't quite mind. Kingsley's gaze found hers and he smiled up at her, his brown eyes warm. Trying to ignore the odd thrum of her heart, Minerva lifted the cup of strong stuff to her lips.

"You're right, it can't last forever," she murmured before draining the last of the hardy alcohol and set her cup down with a clatter. Briefly noticing that Kingsley still hadn't let go of her hand, she felt her cheeks flush. The way he was looking at her, his kind gaze, his warm smile— it was the alcohol, it had to be. There was no way she could feel this way, certainly not about Kingsley. Those dayshad long passed her by.

"If you'll excuse me, I think I'll try to get some rest." Standing abruptly, she clutched the file closer as she pulled her hand away. Kingsley nodded and stood to open the door to the thin hallway and spoke before she left.

"If you ever need… support, Minerva, I'm here." With a reassuring smile, he stood aside, and as she moved into the cramped hallway, she was suddenly not so certain that the heat coursing through her was entirely due to the alcohol.

"Thank you, Kingsley," she smiled nervously. "But next time, bring the whole bottle."

His chuckle echoed long after she left.

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_A/N: I kind of love these two now. _


	8. Harry&Petunia: Protecting Him (Family)

_A/N: For the Decisions, Decisions Competition, Round Two: Family, Harry and Petunia, Prompts: hesitate, "I just need some air", and "If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton you may as well make it dance." -George Bernard Shaw. Word Count: 278_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter._

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_Lily was dead. _

For a moment, Petunia could not breathe, couldn't think. All she could do was stare at the baby swaddled in the checkered blanket. Her heart plummeted to her stomach, as if it were made of lead. She felt the grief sprout in her chest and she winced as imaginary thorns pricked her heart.

The baby gurgled suddenly, and Petunia hesitated to pick the boy up—the child opened his eyes, so unaware that in the space of a single night, his life had changed so immensely. Petunia looked down at Harry Potter and was met with the patient gaze of her sister. Lily's eyes. Harry's eyes. Green, beautiful, beautiful green eyes that Petunia had so desperately envied once upon a time.

Vernon sat with her, to his credit, his eyes flickering between her and the letter she held in her hands. Her fist clenched suddenly, and the paper crumpled in her firm grasp.

"I just need some air." Her voice was like steel, and Vernon could only nod as she stepped outside into the cool autumn morning, shutting the door behind her with a slam.

Gasping, she let a cry of despair and crumpled to the ground. Lily, her sister, Lily, her little flower, Lily was gone and Petunia was left with her child. She had a responsibility, she supposed. To protect the boy from the evils that killed her sister, to protect him any way she could. To protect him from magic. And she would do just that. It was the only way to make that she wouldn't lose the only thing she had left of her sister.

She had to protect Harry Potter.

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_A/N: Any good? Leave a review!_


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